


Generosity

by off_to_nevverlandd



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, I have no fucking idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/off_to_nevverlandd/pseuds/off_to_nevverlandd
Summary: Somehow Clarke manages to rear end someone on her way home, and it just happens to be the most beautiful woman she has ever seen in her entire life.*read- this is the second attempt at a summary for this fic. just try it.





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a car wreck. It was your fault and honestly you just want the confrontation from the other driver to come and go so you can worry about how you're going to afford the repairs for this exceptionally expensive car you've just rear ended. 

 

You both pull to the side after the initial shock of the situation, both car's hazards blinking meticulously. After a deep breath and a well thought out apology speech to try to minimize the verbal assault you're sure is awaiting you, you climb out of your car and brace yourself for the driver in front of you to do the same. 

 

What you don't expect is how indescribably gorgeous the woman who climbs out of her respective car is. Her composure is unmatched, posture undefeated. You feel yourself try to subtly straighten your stance without any notice as she makes her way towards her back bumper. She kneels down until she's eye level and runs her hand over the damage. You watch her fingers trail the fresh dent and scraped paint over the entire left side of the bumper and you can't help the cringe of the it, the image of the pristine car only moments before the collision. Finally, she stands and looks at you. 

 

When you first make eye contact, you expect to see anger or frustration. Or something other than an easy, content expression that you can't quite read. She looks at your front bumper now, which seems to have taken most of the damage. It's completely hammered in with more of the other car's paint than its own. You grimace as you realize just how bad it is. 

 

Finally, she speaks to you. 

 

"Are you okay?" The first thing you notice is how sharp her voice is. Not in a way that makes you recoil, but more like it pulls you in, captivating you. It's steely and formal, which isn't really surprising at all when you compare the face with the voice. 

 

The second thing you notice is the earnestness in her tone. It's not frantic or panicked, but instead it's calm and cool. She's regarding you, taking in how you're shaking and there's distress evident on your face and she picks up on it immediately. 

 

You nod at first, your voice not quite reaching you. When it becomes clear that it's not enough for her to be sure, you clear your throat before answering her. 

 

"Yeah, I'm fine." You try redirecting the conversation to the situation at hand. 

 

"Look, I'm so sorry about this. I really don't have good excuse as to why I wasn't paying attention. I have my insurance card on me and I'll pay for all of the damages." 

 

The woman stands there with a questioning gaze, glancing between the two vehicles and yourself before she steps a little closer, one more respectful of an actual conversation. 

 

"You're wearing scrubs, and without holding judgement, they seem to be worn. Your hair is more on the nappy side, and you have bags under your eyes. The badge on your clip right there," She gestures to the badge before continuing. 

 

"Shows that you're a surgeon, and it's 7:46am on a Sunday morning." She finishes, and you're at a loss for words because, so far, she's been extremely accurate. 

 

"So, I take it you've just gotten out of surgery, one of which I'm assuming was grueling and time consuming and you're tired and just trying to get home." 

 

All you can do is nod because for the second time, you're speechless because of this woman in front of you. She smiles and you furrow your brow because it's more of a smirk. She holds up a finger to signal for you to hold on before she gets into her car and returns a moment later. 

 

"Here." She hands you a sticky note consisting of two things: 

 

A name and a number. 

 

You think this is how she wants you to get a hold of her to let her know how you intend on paying for the damages on her car. She's quick to let you know that you're mistaken. 

 

"Call me after you get a good sleep in and we'll talk about getting your vehicle fixed." The confusing look on your face must have been obvious because she grins and elaborates. 

 

"I'm going to pay for the damages, Clarke. For a surgeon, you'd think you would've put that together." Her tone lets you know that she's only teasing. You're baffled. This woman – Lexa, as the sticky note suggests – just got rear ended by a nobody who just wasn't paying attention and she's suggesting paying for not only her own damage, but yours as well. 

 

"I can't let you do that." You shake your head, more to yourself than to her. She mulls over your words for a moment before responding. 

 

"I can't force you to accept. However, I'm not offering with any ill intentions. It would be my pleasure to help you out as best I can." You feel like her words hold more implication than what's actually being said, but you also think you might be reading into it because the offer is ludicrous and you're exhausted, going on 33 hours of no sleep. You find yourself nodding again, lost in your thoughts. There's a long pause where neither of you speak. 

 

"Did you save them?" Her words pull you out of your thoughts and it takes you a moment before you recall what she said. She's looking at you with intent now. 

 

"No." You say, simply. No, you didn't save the patient. You stood over them for 17 hours trying to just get them stable enough to proceed to the actual lifesaving part. But eventually, their body couldn't take it anymore and they flatlined. You spent another 20 minutes trying to get a heartbeat back before the time of death was finally declared. 

 

"No." You repeat yourself, making eye contact with her. She offers a condoling smile and you appreciate it. 

 

"I'm sorry. You can't win them all, and I'm sure you did everything in your power." With that, she starts making her way towards her car. She's grabbing the handle to her driver's side door before she turns to you once again. 

 

"By the way, that's my personal number. It can be used for more than just formal matters." She climbs into her car, turns her hazards off, and drives away, leaving you speechless for the third time. You look down at the sticky note and when you look back up, her car is out of sight and your brows furrow. 

 

"What the fuck?"


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing you do when you wake up is walk out of your apartment and towards your car. You see the dent in your bumper, along with the black paint that contrasts with the red of your own. 

 

The second thing you do is climb into your car and grab the sticky note you had left in your glove box. 

 

Lexa 

 

555-2410 

 

You stare at it for a moment before shoving it into your pocket and making your way back into your apartment. You brew some coffee and move to your sofa and flip mindlessly through the channels, your mind not entirely focused on the task at hand. 

 

You recall the events of this morning. You rear ended a car that probably costs more than you make a year, a beautiful woman who happened to own that car told you to not worry about the damage. And then she tells you she's not only going to pay for her own car's damage, but yours as well. 

 

This woman has left you baffled. You contemplate calling the number just to make sure you didn't imagine the whole interaction and that you do in fact have to pay for the damages. You have half a mind to insist on paying for the repairs because, in all honesty, you feel pitied and judged by this woman who seems to have her life in order and more wealth than you could pray for if her pant suit that seems to be worth more than your rent was anything to go by. 

 

The timer for your coffee dings and go to pour yourself a cup. It's 4:32pm and you have to be back at the hospital in five and a half hours so you're getting a head start on your caffeine fix. You make a bowl of cereal and settle in the living room for a mediocre reality show and try to take your mind off of today. 

 

It doesn’t work. By 6pm you're feeling antsy, the sticky note burning a hole in your pocket as a reminder of the incident. It weighs heavily on your mind until you can't handle it. You take your empty bowl and cup to the kitchen and throw them in the sink before picking up your cellphone and pulling out the sticky note. 

 

You dial the first three digits before deleting them and locking your phone. You think you're being stupid. You got away with not having to pay off someone's deductible for a collision that was your fault. You have no ties to this woman and will most likely never see her again so why not just throw the sticky note away and return to your normal everyday life, only this time with a dent in your front bumper? You toss the sticky note into the trash can and head to the bathroom for a shower. 

 

Twenty minutes later, and a fresh pair of scrubs on, you walk into your kitchen to finish off your pot of coffee and the thought of pulling the sticky note out of the trash is hammering in your skull like a hangover. So, you do. 

 

Before you can second guess yourself, you grab the sticky note and pull your phone out, dialing the number. There's a moment of hesitation, but before you can talk yourself out of it you press call. The phone rings for a few moments before someone answers. You hear muffled voices for before someone addresses you. 

 

"Give me one moment, please." The voice is unmistakably Lexa's. The sharp, yet delicate tone distinguishable. You nod, despite the inability for her to see that. You can hear her speak with authority, though you can't make out exactly what she's saying. Finally, after maybe thirty seconds she speaks to you again. 

 

"Hello, sorry for the delay." She speaks and clear your throat before responding. 

 

"Hi, this is Clarke from this morning." You say, and you hope it comes out with more declaration than you feel like it sounds. 

 

"Clarke, of course. I'm just leaving the office if you'd like to meet up and discuss arrangements in person." She says, and you look down at the clean scrubs you just put on only minutes ago, then at the clock on your stove, reading 6:37pm. You have three hours before you have to be at the hospital and you know this diner only minutes down the road, so you comply to her request, wanting to get this out of the way and back to your previously scheduled day to day life. 

 

"Sure, I'll send you the location and I'll be there in about twenty minutes." You hang up when you get an affirming response. 

 

In twenty-two minutes, you park outside the diner, clad in a pair of black shorts and a plain green t-shirt. Your scrubs are folded in your bag beside you, opting for something more comfortable before work. You tell yourself it's not because you think Lexa's hot and these shorts make your ass look great, because you're only here to clear up the accident situation and to ease the uncertainty of the situation. 

 

You walk into the diner to see Lexa already seated, reading over a menu. She's still wearing the formal black slacks and white button up from this morning, but the first top buttons are undone and the sleeves are rolled up, taking on a more casual appearance. Or as casual as you can get when you're overdressed in a rundown diner. 

 

You sit across from her, pulling her attention away from the menu and she smiles at you, tired though no less as warm and enamoring. 

 

"Hello, Clarke." She closes her menu to give you her full attention. You try to hold an air of confidence, but you're not sure you can fool this woman, because she has an amused gaze aimed at you and it makes you want to shift under it, so instead you look down at your own menu and begin scanning over the items, despite knowing you're going to get the same thing you always get. You can still feel Lexa watching you, so after a moment you look up at her questioningly. When she says nothing, you use your words. 

 

"What?" Lexa chuckles at that, finally looking away and shaking her head in amusement. You'd probably find it charming in other circumstances but right now you're mildly annoyed. 

 

"I'm sorry, but are we just grabbing a bite to eat or are we here to discuss something?" You scoff, though it's not as effective as you intended. 

 

"Well, we are at a restaurant, and my shift starts in two hours so I figured we could multitask." You tell her and she raises her eyebrows and nods. 

 

"Touché, Clarke." And you don't know why, but you're irritated with this woman and the way she's so steely and how she keeps saying your name. Which feels irrational because she gave you her number to work out how to go about the damages that you caused. And not only that, but she's offering to pay for all of the damages for both vehicles and you're irritated because you were the one to ask her to meet you at a diner and you're irritated because you're ordering food and she's just confused because there hasn't been mention of the situation at hand. You take a deep breath. 

 

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand." You shrug, closing your menu and leaning against the back of your chair, looking at her. She looks at you with a puzzled look, so you continue. 

 

"Why are you offering to pay for all of this? The incident wasn't your fault, you don't know me or anything about me, I have insurance and I can pay for the damages. I don't need your pity." You tell her with conviction. And that fucking smile is back on her face. 

 

"You think this is pity, or that I have some sort of hidden agenda with offering to pay for something that I know won't even put a dent in my bank account," She pauses and laughs. 

 

 

"No pun intended." She says before continuing. 

 

"I know surgeons. I know how much money is put towards med school, I know how much debt that can leave someone with and I know they don't make as much money as they deserve and that anyone with eyes could see that you had just gotten off a really tolling shift this morning and couldn't catch a break when you hit me so I Just want to give you that one break. That one thing that can make you sleep easier at night, knowing that you'll have one less thing to worry about." She speaks with her own conviction that competes with yours, but you're not satisfied with her words. 

 

"So, to sum it up, you're assuming I'm poor, you're implying you're loaded, and you'd do this for anyone if they look like they've had a bad day?" You question, but Lexa looks unfazed. 

 

"I am making assumptions, yes. But you're putting words into my mouth and twisting my intentions. As far as I know, you could've had a full ride at med school, or maybe you have enough wealth to comfortably carry you through school and you already have it paid off. When it comes down to it, I just want to do something kind for someone. There's no rhyme or reason as to why it happens to be you but it is. And it's just an offer. We can definitely exchange insurance information and you can pay for the deductible and repair my car. You don't have to accept my help, but there's a reason you called me and I don't think it's just because you wanted to take me out to dinner." She finishes as the waitress walks up to your table, notepad ready. 

 

 

"Hello ladies, how can I help you?" The two of you relay your orders and the waitress walks away, leaving Lexa to look at you, awaiting your rebuttal. You can't think of anything that you haven't already said and she seems so honest and that her intentions are pure, so you sigh and take in the diner around you as she continues to watch you. 

 

"So, you work tonight?" She asks, attempting a light conversation as you both wait for your meal. You play along. 

 

"Yes, I do." You take a sip of the water your waitress had brought you. Lexa nods. 

 

"How long are your usual shifts?" She prods. You answer. 

 

"They fluctuate between thirty-six to forty-eight. It's a forty-eight hour shift this time." Lexa looks impressed and you can't help but to take pride. 

 

"What's your specialty?" 

 

"I'm a general surgeon." You answer simply. Lexa smiles at that and you can't help your own from growing. 

 

"So, why medicine? Why'd you want to be a surgeon?" Her questions are getting more imposing and you can't help but to indulge her. 

 

"It's been passed down through generation. I felt like it was expected of me. Not to say I don't enjoy it, I love the exhilaration and the rush that comes from it. And the satisfaction of saving someone's life is indescribable." You tell her. 

 

"But it's not your passion?" She digs. You hesitate. You're not sure how she manages to read you like an open book, but somehow, she's hitting the nail on the head. 

 

"No, it's not my passion." You confess and Lexa looks intrigued. When she sees you aren't going to saying anything more, she speaks. 

 

"What is your passion, Clarke?" She's leaning in, arms folded on the table, her gaze unwavering. 

 

You look at her and she holds no judgement, only interest in what you're going to say next. You don't usually indulge your personal stuff to a pretty much total stranger but you feel so inclined to. She's patient as she waits for you to respond. But right when you're about to speak, your waitress arrives with your meals and the conversation halts. She sets the food on the table, asks if you need anything else and when Lexa denies, eyes never having left you, you can't argue. You're both good in each other's company. 

 

"Art." You answer, suddenly. You expect her to need to take a moment to realize what you mean, seeing has it's been a minute since you've spoken about the topic at hand. But, of course, she doesn't miss a beat. 

 

"What kind of art, exactly?" She asks and you can't help but to dive into a tangent of your favorite paintings and artists and Lexa smiles encouragingly the whole time as she watches you, putting in her input whenever it's necessary. You show her images of famous ones that you personally think don't receive enough credit and attention. You're showing her one painting and glance at the time before jumping out of your seat. 

 

"Fuck, I only have three minutes to get to work." You start digging through your purse to find cash for your meal before Lexa tells you to go and to not worry about it. You try to decline, but now you only have to minutes left so you tell her as you're gathering your things so you tell her you'll pay next time. 

 

And it's not until after you've arrived at the hospital, changed into your scrubs, and started your rounds before you realize the implication of the last thing you said to Lexa. 'I'll pay next time'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment a color and I have to decipher if the color means you liked this chapter or if you hated it.
> 
> No, but really, tell me how you feel about this chapter. No colors involved. 
> 
> Also leave a kudos.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

You're seven hours into your shift and you've gone through three different pairs of scrubs. Two were bloodied, and one tore from catching on a door handle as you rushed to a patient's room from a code blue call. You got there in time and you're rewarding yourself by hiding out in the comfort of your friend's company. 

 

"So, you basically have yourself a sugar daddy now?" She pauses 

 

"Sugar mommy?" She second guesses herself. You roll your eyes in lieu of a response. 

 

"No, Raven. She's not my sugar daddy." 

 

You spent the last ten minutes explaining the situation to Raven, who found the it all to be hilarious and definitely something that would only happen to you. You thank yourself for leaving out that Lexa is insanely hot and your meeting with her at your favorite diner felt more like a date than anything else. Raven would've lost her mind. 

 

"So, are you going to let her pay for the damages?" Raven takes a large bite from her sandwich, looking at you as you formulate aa response. 

 

"I don't want to, but she's right. I can barely afford my rent, I don't know how I can afford to pay for the expenses of her car, let alone my car. I could just let her pay for her own car and pay her back in increments. I don't think I could let her pay for my damages though. Regardless of how tired I was, and why I was tired, the accident was my fault. To get away with not having to pay for her damage and my own is too much to accept. I don't even know this her." You sigh and Raven nods absentmindedly as she continues to inhale her sandwich. 

 

"Clarke, if she's insisting on paying for it, you should let her. Maybe she'll get your breaks replaced, too. They're starting to sound like dying cats." She speaks with her mouth full of food. 

 

You take a deep breath, frustrated that Raven doesn't seem to understand where you're coming from. Accepting such an offer from a stranger would make you feel like a freeloader who accepts unreasonable handouts. Lexa has already made it clear that she just wants to do something kind and you appreciate that but it's all too much. Even if Lexa was a close friend you couldn't see yourself allowing such help. 

 

"We haven't reached a conclusion so I'm going to have to see her again. I have to go do rounds though. I'll talk to you when I'm free." You leave your friend to finish her meal and walk the floor, checking your patients, ensuring their vitals are intact and that their stay is comfortable. 

 

An hour later you're in an emergency surgery, someone with a lung disease needing an immediate operation and you're working diligently and thoroughly, not allowing any mistakes in your O.R. 

 

The surgery lasts four hours and you walk out equally filled with pride in successfully saving someone and grueling exhaustion, the operation having taken all of your energy. You flop into an on call bed, door locked and the room submerged in total darkness. You check to make sure your phone has the volume all the way up for any emergency calls and see an unread message from an unsaved number. 

 

555-2410 

 

Let me know when you're free so we can actually get around to working out our situation. I won't allow the conversation to stray until we have this resolved, I could see it's weighing heavily on your conscious. 

 

Lexa. 

 

You don't respond, just save the number into your phone under her name and lock your phone, allowing sleep to succumb you. 

 

 

You wake up groggy, but refreshed, check your phone and see it's been five hours. The lack of interruption eases you, the knowledge that there's nothing going wrong with any of your patients. You have thirty-nine more hours left in your shift and it makes you want to curl further in the scratchy, sterile sheets but you deny yourself the luxury, instead you crawl out of the bed and replace the sheets before rejoining the hustle of the hospital. You fall into the routine with everyone else, reviewing lab reports and analyzing every new piece of information to try and determine a solution. You go back and forth between ensuring your patients are well and trying to find options that are best for their situations. 

 

You feel like you're not doing enough and that you're not focused on the task at hand despite the fact that you're working diligently. You're just trying to get through your shift with no casualties and some patients are circling the drain. 

 

You're forty-seven hours into your shift, running on seven hours total of sleep, getting interrupted from your second nap due to a patient flat lining in the middle of the night and being rushed to surgery. You saved him and don't know how much longer this streak of success is going to last because you know it can't go on forever. 

 

So, you have an hour left before you're blessed with two full days away from the hospital. On call, of course, but you'll take what you can get. 

 

You call Lexa before you allow yourself to overthink. 

 

"Hello?" The response sounds tired and you see that it's late in the evening. 

 

"Hey, sorry I didn't realize how late it was until I called." You hear the shifting of the woman before she responds. 

 

"It's okay, I was just reading. Is everything okay?" The question feels heavy, like it doesn't belong in the conversation. Too direct and broad, not carrying any implication of the actual situation between the two of you. You give an answer all the same. 

 

"I'm fine, just tired. My shift is almost over and if all is well and I'm free to leave I was wondering if we can meet to reach a decision about our incident." 

 

Lexa hums with thoughtfully over the phone. 

 

"I'm still in the office if you're willing to make a trip over. I'll clear you for entrance so you can come straight up." She tells you as you're stifling a yawn. She continues when you don't respond. 

 

"Is it save for you to drive, you sound like you need to rest." She sounds concerned. You know you're save to drive. You're not nearly as tired as you were the morning of the accident and you've driven home successfully in worse conditions. 

 

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just send me the location of your office and I'll be there as soon as I can." 

 

The silence drags on for a moment before Lexa responds. 

 

"Okay, just be save." 

 

You both say your respectful goodbyes before you return to work. All of your patients are stable and the general surgeon that's replacing you arrives, refreshed and ready to take over for you. You update him on the status of your patients in depth and head to the locker room to change out of your scrubs and into your spare change of clothes before leaving the hospital. 

 

You click on the address Lexa sent you and following the GPS. You feel oddly awake, despite the agonizing shift. The drive was shorter than you expected, arriving in fifteen minutes to the designated location. 

 

It's a large building, and beautifully designed, the modern display of it making your eyebrows shoot up. 

 

Of course, she works here. You climb out of your car and make your way into the building. It's just short of 9pm, so the building is just shy of empty, save for the occasional janitor and the lady at the front desk. You walk up to her, clearing your throat to grab her attention. 

 

"Hello, how can I help you?" She asks with a smile way too kind to be genuine. 

 

"Hi, I'm here to see Lexa." You tell her and she looks at you with question in her eyes. 

 

"Can I get a name, please?" 

 

"Clarke." 

 

"Ah, Miss Griffin, of course. She logs something into the journal on her desk and types something into the computer before handing you a lanyard with a card attached. 

 

"There's an elevator right through these doors. Just swipe your card and Lexa's office is going to be on the top floor. You nod at her, the situation making you curious. You walk through the doors that open automatically when the woman presses a button and you walk through and towards the elevator. 

 

Once the doors open, you walk in and swipe your card, then looking at the floor numbers. Eighty-seven floors. Holy shit, you think. You press the top number and wait the never ending few minutes as you rise from floor to floor. Finally, the elevator dings and the doors open up to a small office with a woman who is definitely not Lexa. 

 

"Clarke, I presume?" She asks, not wasting any time with pleasantries. You like her for that. After a nod from you she presses a button akin to the woman from earlier. The door beside her desk slides open and you take that as a queue to walk in. There's a short walk from the doors to another set. You hesitantly tug one open and walk through revealing a large open space, dark oak floors and warm beige walls decorated in art, perfectly spaced out from each other. There's a fireplace and a wall of books. The wall that outlooks the city is made of glass, with a subtle door behind an office desk that allows you to talk out to the balcony. 

 

You're in awe. You didn't even notice Lexa sitting on the couch facing the aforementioned fireplace until she rises, walking towards you, one hand tucked in her pocket, the other holding a glass of what you're assuming is whiskey or bourbon if the stereotypes are anything to go by. 

 

"Clarke." She dips gives you an inviting smile, small but genuine. She sets the glass on the coaster placed on the table containing different variations of alcohol, the glasses stacked eloquently in the middle of it all. You can't stop from taking in your surroundings. 

 

"Okay, what exactly do you do?" You ask her, not having looked at her until now. 

 

She's in the same sort of business attire, black chinos and a green button up, though the sleeves are rolled up like at the diner, giving off a casual appearance. Her hair is pulled up into a loose bun, though somehow appears eloquent. 

 

"I run a company." She says simply and you scoff, though with no malice. 

 

"Must be some company." You say and Lexa laughs. She walks to her desk and takes a seat, looking at you expectantly. You follow suit and sit in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. 

 

"Okay, we actually need to talk about this." She says, and you fall into the conversation. 

 

"I can't let you pay for my damages. It's one thing if you insist on paying for your own because I can't force you to let me figure it out and fix it for you. But it's too much to allow you to fix my own problems when I'm the reason we have this issue." Lexa looks at you as you speak, taking into consideration what you're saying. 

 

"So, you won't allow me to fix your damages?" She asks you. 

 

"No, I can't accept." You tell her, holding her gaze in an attempt to appear unwavering. 

 

"Okay, Clarke." She sits back in her chair and takes in your appearance. You can't help but to shift under her gaze, feeling the same sense of judgement. Lexa's eyes hold no judgement like always, but there's something different this time and you can't help yourself from questioning her. 

 

"What?" 

 

Lexa holds your gaze with no intent to drop it. 

 

"I'm just surprised you're not jumping at this opportunity. There are so many greedy people in this world and as much as I want to help out, it's nice to see that you'd rather figure this out for yourself instead of accepting. I just feel like for once, I'm at a loss for words." 

 

"You're implying I'm greedy if I were to accept your offer." 

 

"That's not what I said, nor how I intended it to be interpreted." She doesn't miss a beat. 

 

"I said there are greedy people that would jump at the opportunity. Your hesitance at even allowing me to pay for my own repairs has already proven you to be humble. For you to accept my offer wouldn't change that opinion I have of you." She elaborates. You nod more to yourself than to her. She keeps her eyes on you, watching your reaction, waiting patiently for your next move. You don't have one. 

 

"Would you like a drink?" She asks after the silence became too loud. You look at your watch briefly, knowing it's late and a drink might not be your brightest decision. 

 

"Please." You say instead. Lexa nods and stands, walking over to the table, pouring you and herself a drink. 

 

"What are you interested in?" She asks you. Your eyes widen at the question. 

 

"Like men or women?" You ask her incredulously. Lexa laughs then and it's the most genuine laugh you've heard so far. 

 

"No, Clarke. Not your sexuality. What type of alcohol. Vodka, Whiskey, Bourbon, Rum." She looks at you with an amused glint in her eyes. 

 

"Vodka." You state quickly, the idiocy of your question making you cringe. She places the drink in front of you before returning to her office chair. You down the drink in one go and watch and Lexa's brows raise in deeper amusement. 

 

"My apologies, I should've phrased my question better." She takes a sip of her drink before placing it in front of her, hands resting on her stomach, the relaxed demeaner somehow still holding a poised, professional display. 

 

"I have to ask, why did you assume that's what I was asking you?" Lexa's amusement fades and takes on a more curious expression. 

 

"I don't know, I'm tired and my friend made assumptions and I got confused." You sound like your rambling and you regret revealing that you've spoken to your friend. Fuck. 

 

"What did your friend assume?" Double fuck. You can't find it in yourself to lie to her. 

 

"She thinks that you're interested in me and you want to be my sugar daddy." You watch the condinsation from your glass slowly roll down to seep into the coaster. It's not until you realize that Lexa hasn't responded that you actually look at her. 

 

Lexa is looking past you, seeming to be in thought. Her brows are furrowed and she's absentmindedly tapping her thumb against the back of her hand. She reaches for her glass and takes another sip before her gaze returns to you. 

 

"Your friend has a peculiar way of thinking." She says, though she doesn't sound quite finished so you wait. 

 

"In case it needs to be addressed, that wasn't what I had in mind when offering. If I'm being honest, it's quite obvious that you're beautiful but I don't find myself comfortable being anyone's sugar daddy." She uses air quotes around the term, but you stopped listening after she called you beautiful. 

 

"You think I'm beautiful?" You ask, skeptically. Lexa just smiles softly. 

 

"Of course, Clarke." She watches you, watches your reaction. 

 

"So, you didn't really mean it when you said you'd do this for anyone. You're only doing this because you find me attractive." You narrow your eyes, growing irritated. Lexa's smile grows and you start to become infuriated. 

 

"No, I had every intention of doing the same thing with you as I did regardless of who stepped out of the car. 

 

"Then why tell me you find me attractive if it plays no role in this situation. You're not going to get anything out of me for offering to pay my damages. I'm not fucking shallow." 

 

It's frustrating because Lexa just sits there, showing no reaction to what you say. She sits there comfortably, with her smug smile on her lips and holds your gaze with ease. You look back in spite, trying your best not to let the irritation cause your gaze to waver. 

 

"Clarke, these are two separate situations. They don't play a role together. I wanted to pay your damages to be kind. That's it. And you don't feel comfortable with me doing so, which I respect and won't insist any further. I also happen to find you intriguing and attractive. You've caught my attention and I want to act on that. I want to ask you out on a date. Now, if you don't feel comfortable with that either, I respect that as well and, again, won't insist any further." 

 

You just look at Lexa for a moment, taking her in. Then you stand up, running your fingers through your hair and sighing. You walk out of Lexa's office without a word and make your way out of the building the same way you came in and finally reach your car. You turn it on and drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is garbage.   
> Critique me in the comments pls.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Leave a comment to let me know what you think. And kudos are always great motivators to carry on.


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